


The Holinshed Ghost

by theramblinrose



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Can be read alone, F/M, MSR, after the episode irresistible, can go after my story "The Lake House", fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: MSR.  Mulder and Scully get an assignment with a real deadline.  They must solve a murder before the clock runs out and the killer strikes again.  The only catch is that their prime suspect may have already died—around two hundred years in the past.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

AN: This story follows my story “The Lake House” chronologically, if you’re reading the stories in my little “universe.” It can, however, be read alone. If you’re reading it alone, it takes place after the episode “Irresistible.” 

This one is not based on an episode and, instead, is just a little X-File that I made up for them. I am not an expert at this, and I’m not a professional. This is only for entertainment value, and the case is only the background, really, for the Mulder/Scully teamwork and relationship development. I am certain it’s not perfect, but I hope you can enjoy it for what it is. Please note that the entire situation (town included, despite the fact that there really is a town with this name) is fictional. This is not based on the real town of Mason, Georgia or any place, person, or entity that exists there.

I own nothing from The X-Files. 

I hope you enjoy! If you decide to read, let me know what you think! 

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“Good morning, Scully,” Fox Mulder said, far too cheerfully, when Dana Scully walked into the basement office.

She stared at him, a moment, and wished that the coffee cup she was carrying was full of caffeinated coffee instead of decaffeinated. They’d made the pact, though, that both of them would give up caffeine, and they’d do it together so that Scully didn’t have to suffer alone. 

Mulder and Scully were partners, at this point in their lives, in every possible sense of the word. They worked together and, when work was done, they were learning how to truly dedicate their lives to one another in every way imaginable. That part, though, came easier than Scully might have imagined it would have the very first time she’d walked into that basement office. 

Everything they’d been through together had pushed them to grow close enough that Scully couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without Mulder, and Mulder would claim that the catalyst for finally moving them from simply being work partners to being something much more intimate had been his opportunity to learn what life was like without Scully. 

Scully didn’t remember her disappearance that had followed a kidnapping. She didn’t remember the coma that followed that, either. All she remembered, surrounding the incident, was being kidnapped and then, some time later, waking up in a hospital room after a profound dream where she’d thought she was dying and Mulder had called out to her. He’d told her he loved her. He’d asked her to stay, and she had.

Things had moved quickly for them. From Mulder’s declaration of love—and Scully’s confirmation that she felt the same—they’d ended up in a situation where Mulder had cared for her throughout her recovery. Each day, since then, it seemed like they fell a little more in love with one another. 

Now Scully was almost eight weeks pregnant with their child—a “surprise” to both of them, since they’d decided that neither of them cared for the word “mistake”—even though they hadn’t disclosed that information to anyone in their lives. 

Scully absolutely couldn’t imagine her life without Mulder, and she wouldn’t want to—except in the moments when he was far too cheerful for a man who had clearly been up before her and was functioning without caffeine.

“You didn’t even tell me you were leaving,” Scully said, watching as Mulder leisurely chewed his way through several sunflower seeds and smiled at her, happily waiting for her greeting. “Are you eating those for breakfast?” 

“I didn’t want to wake you up because you were sleeping so well. I knew you’d know where I was once your alarm went off. And these aren’t breakfast. I didn’t want to eat without you, because I figured you’d try to skip breakfast if I did.” Mulder said. “I thought I could brief you and then we’d grab something at Demo’s for breakfast before we go home to pack. They’ll have toast and strawberry jam, so if the alien doesn’t want anything else, they’ll still have you covered.” 

“Why are we packing? Where are we going?” Scully asked. 

They’d just gotten home the night before. Granted, they’d at least had something of a break from work. They’d been on a three-day vacation to a lake house where they could relax a little and let go of the stress of their last case—a case that had seen Scully kidnapped by a murderer who enjoyed dismembering his victims for the body parts he collected as trophies. Scully had honestly been hoping for a few days of easy and quiet work—but that was seldom the way things went in their little basement office.

Mulder had already pulled a chair over for her and Scully came to sit down. She sipped at her coffee, wondering how much she’d hope for regular coffee by the end of the day.

“We’re heading the picturesque town of Mason, Georgia,” Mulder said.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Scully responded.

“And you probably wouldn’t have any reason to hear about it normally,” Mulder said. He brought up a slide on his projector. It was a picture of a house—a mansion, maybe.

“What’s this?” 

“That’s the Holinshed House,” Mulder said. “It’s one of the oldest restored plantation houses in Georgia. It was built around two hundred years ago. It’s currently owned by a woman named Belva Holinshed who has lived there since her now-deceased husband, Willard Holinshed the Fourth, inherited the house from his father.” 

“What does this have to do with us, Mulder?” Scully asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” Mulder said, enjoying this far too much. The poorly concealed smirk on his face said that there was something he was looking forward to telling her. There was a reaction that he was looking forward to getting. “On a scale of one to ten, Scully, how afraid are you of ghosts?” 

“Ghosts?” Scully asked. She waited for the punchline, then, but she didn’t get it. Instead, Mulder simply nodded his head. The smirk got away from him a bit more. Scully sighed.

“Negative four, Mulder,” Scully said. “Don’t tell me the Holinshed House is a haunted house.” 

“In the worst kind of way, Scully,” Mulder said.

“We’re not being sent to investigate a haunted house,” Scully said. It was as much a statement to Mulder as it was simply her thinking out loud about the case file that lie on the desk in front of Mulder. The folder was closed, for the moment, but she knew that all the information they’d be given to start this fiasco was located there. 

“Not exactly,” Mulder said. He changed the slide. “This is Mary Holinshed Briggs. She’s one of Belva and Willard’s children.” 

Scully grimaced at the photo.

“I’m assuming DNA is they only way they can be sure of that,” Scully offered. 

“You’re correct about that,” Mulder said. “They still have not located her head, actually. Most of the body has been located in various locations, however, and they’re continuing the search for…well…the rest of it.”

“Knife? Machete?” Scully asked.

“Axe,” Mulder said. “This axe, local authorities presume.” He showed her the slide, skipping quickly over another, and then he returned to the one he’d jumped over. “And this is Robert Gaines. He’s no relation to the Holinsheds.”

“So, it’s a serial killer?” Scully asked. The pieces of the presumed Robert Gaines that were gathered into the picture, much like the ones in the photo before, showed a definite pattern of brutal death and dismemberment.

“It would definitely appear to be the handiwork of the same killer,” Mulder said. “Both bodies were found at the Holinshed House. The parts were spread throughout the house. They were found five days apart. Robert Gaines’ body was identified yesterday—it was found two days ago. The first piece of each body was located in the front entryway. Each piece was found by Belva Holinshed’s housekeeper when she arrived for the morning shift. Nobody had been in or out the house since the night before.”

“At least not that they know of,” Scully said, already puzzling her way through the complicated story.

“They have cameras,” Mulder said. “The Holinshed House frequently allows tours of certain spaces in the house for those who come to Mason and want to see a piece of history.” 

“Mulder—I don’t understand,” Scully said. “If nobody comes in or out, but somebody’s being murdered and dismembered there, then it must be someone in the house who’s doing it. But they’re having to bring the bodies in at some point. So—is it Mrs. Holinshed?” 

“She would seem like the obvious suspect,” Mulder said. “Except that Belva Holinshed is over eighty years old, in poor health, and relies a great deal on the care of two nurses. A day nurse, and a part-time night nurse. She’s only left alone for a few hours each night, but everyone seems to agree that she couldn’t pull off a murder, less likely one this brutal.”

“That leaves the nurses,” Scully said. “Particularly the night nurse.” 

“It’s possible,” Mulder mused.

“You’ve got someone else in mind already?” Scully asked, sipping her coffee. She found herself waking up and feeling a bit more cheerful about the day since she already had a puzzle to work on. Mulder reached for the folder—there were two. Scully hadn’t seen that there was one tucked up under the top one. He freed the bottom folder and opened it. 

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, Scully,” Mulder said. “One reason that the Holinshed House draws the attention of the locals and of tourists is because this has happened three times before.”

“People are commonly murdered with an axe in this house?” Scully asked. 

“It’s been over fifty years since the last murder,” Mulder said. “There were three sprees, I guess you could call them.” He spread information out across the cluttered desk. “They were each around fifty years apart, beginning when the house was practically as new as the state its located in. There were three murders each time. Each murder was five days apart.” 

“So, we’re dealing with a textbook copycat killer,” Scully offered.

Mulder ignored her. He often ignored her rational explanations when he had something else in mind—something else he wanted to say.

“It was widely accepted that the first Willard Holinshed committed the first murder spree. While the crime was still under investigation, Willard committed suicide five days after the majority of the body of his last victim was recovered. When the second spree occurred, about forty-nine years later, there were three bodies, but no suicide took place. Instead, the axe that was suspected to have been used to commit the murders was found stuck in the portrait of Willard Holinshed the First. There was never any kind of definitive evidence found in the second set of murders. There was nothing to identify a killer in any way. There were some accounts, though, of disturbances in the house, suggesting the ghost of Willard Holinshed was active and upset about something. At least that’s what was recorded. The same thing happened with the third set of murders about fifty-two years ago. One other thing that all the sprees, up to now, have had in common is that the final victim of each spree has been the current Mrs. Holinshed.”

“Which would mean that they’re suspecting that Belva Holinshed will be the next victim,” Scully said. Mulder nodded.

“And which means we have approximately three days to find her murderer before she’s a victim and, if the pattern holds out, an axe is later found embedded in the portrait of the Willard Holinshed the First again,” Mulder said.

“Why not just remove the axe from the house?” Scully asked.

“They have,” Mulder said. “The axe we have photographed is the original axe. It was returned to the house when it opened as something of a museum. Like I said, Mrs. Holinshed has allowed for ghost tours to visit the property for years. It was removed before, and it’s been removed again. Each time, in its absence, another axe has been used to dismember the victims and to stab the portrait. It appears that, for Willard Holinshed the First, any axe will do in a pinch, Scully.” 

“Mulder—are we seriously going all the way to Georgia to try to solve a murder where a ghost is our prime suspect?” Scully asked.

“That would appear to be our assignment,” Mulder said. The amusement crawled back across his features now that he’d run through the case information with her. He set about packing the information they had back into the folders.

“Do you honestly believe that these murders have all been committed by a ghost?” Scully asked.

Mulder laughed to himself. 

“Not at all,” he said, much to Scully’s relief. “If that’s not the case, though, then it means that all the murders following the first, which very likely was committed by the first Willard Holinshed, went unsolved. It also means that our copycat killer is likely to follow the pattern of the other three murder sprees as closely as possible; which means that we have three days to solve this and keep Belva Holinshed from dying a very brutal death.” 

He picked up the folders with some finality and looked at Scully in that way that he had—the way that could always drive her crazy; sometimes in different ways. 

“I’m going to Mason, Georgia, today. What do you say, Scully?” Mulder asked. “You wanna sit this one out?” 

“When do we leave?” She asked.

Mulder smiled. 

“This afternoon,” Mulder said. “Come on. We’ve got plenty of time to get some breakfast, throw a few things in our bags, and make it to the airport with enough time to pick out reading material for the flight. We might even be able to find a book of ghost stories.” 

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AN: I hope you enjoyed the first installment of this. 

I’m still fairly new to The X-Files. I’m only in season 3. If you haven’t read any of my other MSR stories, I have a few stories that can all be read separately, or they can be read as all belonging to the same universe. I’m playing loosely with canon and, the farther into the series I get, the more I realize I’m going to cherry pick what I want to keep and change for my own stories. I may, later, write a few stories that go in between the ones I’ve already written, but here they are in current chronological order.

“A Light in the Darkness,” “Stay, “The Cross,” “Aubrey,” “Irresistible,” and “The Lake House.”

I hope you enjoyed the first installment of this story! Please let me know what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here we are, the second piece to this little “episode.” 

I hope that you enjoy! Please let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Their commercial flight had connected with a puddle jumper that would allow them to bypass Atlanta and save them hours of dealing with Atlanta traffic in an attempt to reach Mason, Georgia. The local law enforcement had been in touch with suggestions, and the flights had been booked. There was nothing wrong with either of the planes except for the fact that the puddle jumper didn’t handle the turbulence they ran into very well, and their little alien had decided to revolt. 

Mulder felt bad for Scully. Their alien normally made her feel nauseous but, so far, she’d been able to control it. The response to the turbulence, though, had been more than she could handle. She’d spent the whole of the short flight in the bathroom—barring the time that she’d been forced to remain wearing her seatbelt—and she’d come close to using an airsickness bag, which was something that Mulder knew would have horrified her to the point of possibly not speaking to him, outside of the absolutely necessary words regarding the case, for at least a day and a half. 

Despite its diminutive size compared to an international airport, the regional airport had still sported a variety of cafes and gift shops, so Mulder had chosen one to duck into upon landing, and he hadn’t demanded that Scully follow him when she’d expressed her desire to hold down a bench in a quaint little indoor courtyard. He’d left her with the bags and stepped inside the little store, alone, to take care of his self-appointed chores.

“Scully,” Mulder said, emerging from the little shop when he was done with everything, “are you all right?” 

Scully stood up. Her color was starting to return to normal, and she looked a little less pouty and humiliated than she’d looked when they’d first gotten off the plane with their bags. Mulder had already promised her that nobody on the small plane had even paid attention to the fact that she’d spent most of the flight sick, and she was the only one who had been inconvenienced or made miserable, but that didn’t seem to change the fact that she was carrying over some of her bad feelings.

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she said. “What’s all that?” She gestured at the brown paper bag that Mulder was carrying. He smiled at her. 

“I got the premium alien care kit,” Mulder offered. There was a hint of amusement on Scully’s features. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“And what’s included in the premium kit, Mulder?” Scully asked.

“I’m glad you asked,” he teased. He looked into the bag and pulled out a small package. He handed it to her before offering her the plastic bottle. “The lovely Southern ladies in the gift shop assured me that there’s nothing for settling an upset stomach quite like Saltine crackers and ginger ale. In fact, according to them, nine out of ten babies in utero approve.” 

Scully looked at the two items in her hands and licked her lips to try to purposefully lick away the evidence that she was at least a little moved by Mulder’s efforts.

“You told them I was pregnant?” Scully asked. 

“I did not,” Mulder assured her. “I told them that my wife was expecting, and she’d experienced tummy troubles on the plane. I didn’t mention you at all, which means that, if they’re watching us right now, they probably think I’m having some kind of illicit affair with another woman while my pregnant wife wanders helplessly in the airport.” 

Scully rolled her eyes at him, but her disdain didn’t last long.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. She looked around and, clearly deciding that she was free to have a few since people were eating things as they walked, she opened the crackers and tucked the ginger ale under her arm for later. “What else is in the bag?” 

“That’s not the end of the care kit,” Mulder said. “I’ve also got mints for you.” He showed her the mints, but he dropped them in his shirt pocket for her to have easy access to them later—given that her hands were full already. “I knew you’d be self-conscious, so I thought, in the absence of the opportunity to brush your teeth, you might appreciate the mints.” 

Her bottom lip jutted out slightly at her reaction to the mints.

“Mulder…” Was all she said, but enough affection came through in her tone that there wasn’t really any need for more words. Mulder smiled at her and produced a small packet of tissues. “This was the final touch in the kit.” 

She playfully shoved him for that, but she did actually take one of the tissues from the pack, and Mulder pretended that something as simple as a few well-thought items from a gift shop hadn’t dampened her eyes or made her nose run. 

“I also picked up some sunflower seeds and a book on local ghost lore,” Mulder said. “It’s got a whole section dedicated to the Holinshed House. I thought we might at least read it and see what the locals believe.”

“Fine,” Scully said, finding a trash can and discarding her used tissue before returning the rest of her pack to the bag. She also selected a few crackers from her other package, and returned the rest of the package to the bag that Mulder was carrying, so that she could still manage her suitcase. “But first we’ve got to figure out where we’re supposed to rent a car, or we might be walking to Mason.” 

They didn’t have far to go with their bags and Mulder’s few purchases. In their search for a counter where they might rent a car, they were stopped by hearing someone call their names. In the small and relatively quiet airport, it wasn’t hard to miss someone shouting.

“Agent Mulder! Agent Scully! Agent Mulder! Agent Scully!”

They stopped and looked at each other before searching out the source of the voice. A slightly overweight man in a police uniform was coming toward them as quickly as he could.

“Most people just hold a sign,” Mulder commented. Scully didn’t say anything beside him. The man was out of breath when he reached them, but he smiled and extended a hand. 

“You must be Agent Mulder and Agent Scully,” he said. 

“Mulder,” Mulder offered, shaking the man’s hand. “This is Scully.” 

“How do you do?” The man asked, executing something like a quick bow when he shook Scully’s hand. 

“How’d you know it was us?” Mulder asked.

“You don’t exactly fit in with the local population,” the man said, gesturing toward his shirt with his fingertips as if to indicate their clothing. “Hardly anybody flies in and out of here that isn’t doing local business or visiting relatives.”

“And you are?” Scully asked.

“Pardon my manners,” the man said. “I’m Sheriff Bernard Mason. Everyone just calls me Bernie.”

“Mason like the town?” Mulder asked. The man beamed.

“I’m Bernard Mason the fifth, to be exact,” he said. He laughed to himself. “My family has a long history in Mason, Georgia. Ever since its founding.”

“It seems like every family has a long history in Mason,” Mulder mused. 

“We’re a small town steeped in tradition,” Bernie said. 

“Well, Bernie, we were actually looking to rent a car,” Mulder said. “We thought it might be easier to handle things while we’re here if we can move around freely.” 

“We have a rental waiting for you in Mason,” Bernie said. “I’ve already arranged it. I wanted to meet you here, myself. I thought that it might provide us with the opportunity to discuss things while we make the drive.” 

Mulder didn’t mind, one way or another, but he glanced at Scully to get her input on the idea. She half shrugged her shoulders and nodded her head. The sheriff was going to have to fill them in at some point, so he might as well tell them what they needed to know while they made the trip to the little town.

“Let’s go,” Mulder offered.

“Do you have other luggage?” Bernie asked.

“We pack light,” Mulder assured him. “Just what fits in the overhead.”

Still, clearly feeling that he should do something, Bernie reached and took Scully’s travel suitcase. 

“Pardon,” he said, as his only way of requesting that she let him handle the bag. She seemed surprised enough by the gesture that she didn’t argue in any way. She simply relinquished her bag and then followed behind him as he led them out of the small airport and into the parking lot. 

Once their bags were loaded in what Mulder assumed to be Bernie’s personal car, and they were all buckled in, Bernie steered them toward the town of Mason. Mulder barely let him get out of the parking lot before he started asking questions.

“Do we know anything else about the case?” Mulder asked.

“Nothing beyond what we sent yesterday,” Bernie said. “We knew that we needed to reach out to someone. It’s too close to home, if you catch my drift.” 

“Have you uncovered any other body parts?” Scully asked.

“Nothing so far,” Bernie said. “I’ve got people looking, and the law enforcement from two nearby towns has joined in the search. If Mr. Holinshed did commit the murders, though, there’s no telling where he could have hidden all the pieces. Who knows what kind of abilities he has?” 

“You’re not seriously considering the possibility that a ghost might have murdered those people?” Scully asked from the backseat. She was sipping her drink since Bernie had insisted that he didn’t mind eating and drinking in his vehicle. The presence of a dropped and forgotten French fry near Mulder’s foot suggested that he was telling the truth. 

“With all due respect,” Bernie offered, “I would be careful suggesting otherwise. At least publicly. The Holinshed ghost is an important part of history in Mason.” 

“But it’s a legend. A tall tale,” Scully said. “A story for entertaining tourists.” 

“Not just tourists,” Bernie said. “Everyone believes in the Holinshed ghost. You can witness it, yourself, when we get to the house.” 

“What’s the legend’s explanation for the murder?” Mulder asked. “Is there some reason that—that the Holinshed ghost would have a reason to continue to commit murders? What can you tell us about the previous murders?” 

“There’s probably not too much that I can tell you that you don’t know,” Bernie mused. “I mean—we faxed over all the information that we had about the previous murders. Everything.”

“There wasn’t much there,” Mulder said. “Essentially what we got was a couple of closed cases where there were multiple murders, without any kind of evidence, all attributed to the ghost of Willard Holinshed the First.” 

“And that’s about what you’re going to get,” Bernie said. “Mason is a small town. It’s always been a small town. There still isn’t much in the way of forensic investigations and all that high-falutin’ television crime mumbo jumbo. Mason is full of simple folks. Tradition. Even a lot of our files have consisted of passed-down information.” 

“Superstition and legend,” Scully contributed, though Mulder wasn’t entirely certain if she was making a statement or asking a question. 

“What can you tell us about the—the suspect?” Mulder asked. “The ghost of Mr. Holinshed.”

“There are people who can probably tell you more than me,” Bernie admitted. “Belva, herself, and Cassidy, her housekeeper. They participate in some of the ghost tours, and they provide a lot of the information to the guests that come to the Holinshed House. All I can do is recite the story I’ve heard. The local lore. Other than that, it’s all in what we sent you.” 

“Humor me,” Mulder said. “What was the local lore surrounding the first murder—or any of them, for that matter?” 

Bernie shrugged his shoulders and hummed to himself before he began.

“Willard Holinshed had the Holinshed House built to his wife’s specifications. It was a gift to her. It was built not long after he came into some money from the success of his plantation. From what information we have, the house hadn’t been built long before the first murders took place. Three murders, five days apart.”

“Do you think there’s some significance to that?” Mulder asked. “To the pattern?”

“I don’t know,” Bernie admitted. “Maybe that’s all he got away with. He killed himself five days after the final body was discovered.”

“The third body was his wife’s body, correct?” Mulder asked. Bernie hummed. “And the other two?” 

“One of his daughters,” Bernie said. “I think he had—well, I don’t know how many he had, but they had a large family. And the second body was a boy from in town. He was no relation to the Holinsheds.”

“No motive?” 

“Some suggested that he had gotten the daughter with child, you know. Out of wedlock,” Bernie said. “Mr. Holinshed wouldn’t have approved of that.”

“So, he murdered his daughter and her lover,” Mulder supplied.

“Essentially,” Bernie said. “It was a murder to restore the family’s honor. To punish the daughter for her transgressions and the young man for his. At least that’s the official story. Like I said, even the files from that time period were mostly hearsay that was recorded. That’s what’s told, at least.”

“Why did he kill his wife?” Scully asked. “Does anyone know?” 

“Realistically, I supposed it was probably because she knew what had happened. Maybe she threatened to turn him in,” Bernie said. “There was an investigation after the first two murders because nobody suspected Mr. Holinshed. Instead, they assumed it must have been someone who was angry at his daughter for some reason. Regardless of the real reason for murdering his wife, it’s become local legend that she complained all the time—that she was always harping on him about the house not being good enough, the money not being enough, or whatever. So, the story has it that he got tired of her mouth and he killed her with an axe. It’s something of a joke, in the area, to remind all new brides of what happened to Marguerite Holinshed.” 

“A word to wise women,” Mulder said with a laugh.

“Charming,” Scully responded.

“Beg your pardon, Ma’am,” Bernie said. “It’s just a local legend.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Scully said. “Sometimes those legends hold keys that help us in understanding the people we’re dealing with and the possible background of the crimes that have been committed.”

“Legend has it that Willard Holinshed had a violent temper anyway,” Bernie said. “A lot of people who visit the house claim they can feel an unease there; whether from the history of murders or from the presence of the Holinshed ghost, himself. They say that things start to happen and, in particular, the presence of the late Mr. Holinshed is particularly strong during the times of unrest surrounding the murders.” 

“Like the past eight or so days?” Mulder asked. Bernie hummed.

“What kind of things do they report?” Scully asked.

“You’ll be able to see for yourself,” Bernie said, turning the car into a long driveway. Set back from the road was a large, white, plantation house with enormous columns and front steps. “Welcome to the Holinshed House.”


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Here we are, another piece to the story.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Mulder took in the sight of the house and the well-groomed landscape around them. The Holinshed House was a tourist destination, and it was clear that it was very well cared for. 

“Not your average two-bedroom starter, is it?” Mulder mused. He thought about ribbing Scully about looking at the house—since he was slowly trying to convince her that they might want to start looking sooner, rather than later, if they were serious about finding one, but he decided against it.

Bernie laughed at Mulder’s joke and walked around the car to the trunk. 

“The Holinshed house has something like forty rooms,” Bernie said. “Cassidy—these are the FBI agents I was telling you and Miss Belva about.” 

Cassidy, the housekeeper, looked young to Mulder. He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been the woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, at the oldest, and who looked like she might have been hired for how she would look in the photographs advertising the house. She smiled as she came down the front steps, wearing what looked like a very traditional maid’s uniform, and extended a hand in greeting. 

Mulder shook her hand and introduced himself. He caught Scully cutting her eyes at him before she introduced herself, as well, to Cassidy.

“You’re the one who found the bodies?” Mulder asked. Cassidy hummed. “That must have been shocking for you.” 

“I’ve given a statement to the police,” Cassidy offered. “But—I’d be happy to tell you what happened. Let’s get you settled, first. Mrs. Holinshed would like for you to have an afternoon meal with her, and if she waits much longer, she’ll be forced to move her time for supper. She prefers to eat her late meal relatively early. It’s easier for digestion, she says.” 

“Charming,” Mulder said, looking at Scully and raising his eyebrows at her as he stole the word she’d used earlier. 

“What do you mean ‘get us settled’?” Scully asked. It was only with Bernie’s approach that Mulder realized the Sheriff had piled up all of their things. He was effectively kicking them out of the car. 

“When we contacted the FBI, they asked us about making arrangements for your stay here,” Bernie said. 

“I’m sure they meant a motel,” Mulder said. Bernie laughed to himself.

“We thought that, since you’re not from around here and you haven’t experienced the Holinshed House before, you might enjoy the opportunity to stay here. Who knows, you may even get a chance to meet Mr. Holinshed,” Bernie offered.

“The ghost?” Scully asked. Bernie laughed to himself. 

“Don’t be too quick to discredit the Holinshed ghost,” Bernie said. 

“We just don’t want to cause any trouble for anyone, or to cause Cassidy any extra work,” Mulder said. “We’ll be perfectly comfortable in a motel with a rental car.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Cassidy quickly assured them. “There’s plenty of room. Most of the main rooms get cleaned, daily, anyway.” 

“And my deputy and I are bringing a car over just as soon as I’ve had a chance to check on a few things and pick it up,” Bernie said. 

Rather than argue any longer, since Mulder could see that there was no need to try to convince the good Sheriff and the housekeeper that a motel was, somehow, a better lodging than the beautiful house in front of them, Mulder reached for the brown paper bag that the Sheriff had pulled from the front seat and for his bag. Scully reached for her bag, as well. 

“I’ll leave you to get settled,” Bernie said, “and to have an opportunity to speak with Cassidy and Miss Belva. I’m going to make some calls to check about the evidence we sent in to a lab in Atlanta—they’ve got better equipment than we’ve got in Mason.” 

“You’ll let us know if you learn anything?” Scully asked.

“Absolutely,” Bernie said. “I expect I’ll know something, if there’s something to know, when I bring your car. I wouldn’t expect too much, though. There hasn’t been evidence in any of the other murders.” 

“Maybe that’s because nobody was looking for any,” Scully offered.

Bernie looked at her, a little surprised, and smiled. He laughed to himself, looked at Mulder for a moment, and then rocked on his feet.

“Well—I better get back to the office and make some calls,” he said. “But I’ll let you know as soon as the labs in Atlanta tell us anything.” 

Bernie took his leave of Cassidy, and the young woman gestured toward the house. She started walking, and Mulder and Scully followed close behind her. 

Inside, the house was every bit as immaculate as it was outside. There seemed to be plenty of rooms and spaces downstairs—most of the doors were closed—and there was a grand staircase that led to a large upstairs area. 

“The report said you found the bodies down here. Near the entrance,” Mulder said. “Is that correct?” 

Cassidy nodded. She walked away from them a moment, over to the side a little, and gestured. 

“You can see here,” she said, “that there’s a little piece of tape on the floor. Here and…here. That’s where I found the first one and then the second.” 

“What did you find?” Scully asked, abandoning her bag, a moment, to closely inspect the spots that were marked with nothing more than tape.

“They took pictures,” Cassidy said. “The Sheriff and deputies. The first morning it was…just an arm. Like—from the elbow to hear. Like to your fingers. I didn’t even notice it at first, I’m sorry to say. I came straight in and—I went to my closet to change clothes. I don’t wear my uniform home. It wasn’t until I came in here to start opening the curtains that I noticed it. They’ve found a few parts throughout the house like they were looking for Easter eggs. It gives me the creeps. They quit looking last night, but I imagine that Sheriff Mason will have the deputies back out here looking later today.” 

“What about the blood?” Mulder asked. He already knew what the report said, but he wanted to make sure that Cassidy’s story would be the same as what he’d read—and what he’d read about all the murders.

“There wasn’t any,” she said. 

“The bodies were all bled and washed clean,” Mulder said. 

“An effort to conceal the murderer,” Scully said. “What need would a ghost have for washing its victims?” 

“Everything in the murders is always done the same,” Cassidy said. “Mr. Holinshed was a very particular man. He liked everything done a certain way.”

Suddenly, she sounded like she was giving a tour. She was reciting information that she’d been taught to recite. She’d repeated it until it was second nature for her.

“Mr. Holinshed the ghost or your late employee?” Mulder asked. 

Cassidy stared at him, a moment, like she had never considered the answer to that question before. She shrugged her shoulders.

“Both,” she said. “I suppose. Now that you mention it.”

“Must be a family trait,” Scully mused.

“Though it does make me wonder if we may have more than one supernatural murderer to deal with,” Mulder supplied. 

“There’s only ever been one Holinshed ghost that I know of,” Cassidy said. Mulder didn’t respond, though he was more than aware that he’d had Cassidy’s attention for the majority of the time since they’d arrived. 

“What’d you find with the second body? Mr. Gaines?” Mulder asked.

Cassidy hummed. 

“I don’t know, honestly,” she said. “I tried not to get too close. I knew it would be there, since it had been five days and all. So, I just—kind of looked over there before I called the Sheriff. Can I show you to your rooms now? Mrs. Holinshed will be wanting to eat soon. I’ll be happy to tell you everything I know but…”

“Of course,” Mulder said. “Lead the way.”

At the foot of the stairs, Mulder reached for Scully’s bag. She let him have it, and took the small, paper bag that he’d been carrying. At the top of the stairs, Cassidy veered off to the right and directed them toward what appeared to be quite a few rooms. 

“These two are made up, for guests, with clean sheets and all,” she said, stopping outside of two of the doors. “You can decide for yourselves which room each of you would prefer. They’re pretty much the same.” 

“We’d rather just share one,” Mulder offered.

Cassidy had been smiling at Mulder, but her gaze shifted to Scully, then. Mulder didn’t miss the head-to-toe that she gave Scully, and he was certain that Scully didn’t miss it either. Cassidy looked back at Mulder, somewhat amused by something, even if it was only her own thoughts.

“Are you married?” She asked, inexplicably dropping her voice to a practical whisper. 

“I don’t know why our marital status would be anyone’s business,” Mulder offered.

Cassidy gestured toward the room nearest them with her head. 

“Mrs. Holinshed doesn’t like gossip,” she offered, her voice still at just above a whisper. Mulder opened the bedroom door and gestured her inside. Scully followed him and he brought their things with them, deciding that the first room was just as good as the other. 

Looking around the room, Mulder couldn’t imagine the other room could be any more nicely furnished. He didn’t have much of a taste for antique furniture—or much of an interest in furniture, really—but he didn’t have to be a professional appraiser to know that the furniture in the room was worth a great deal of money.

As soon as they were closed away in the room, and the discerning ears of Mrs. Holinshed, wherever she may be in the large house, couldn’t overhear Cassidy’s gossip, the young woman spoke again, going about fluffing pillows and smoothing wrinkles out of blankets as she went. 

“Mr. Holinshed was very traditional,” Cassidy said. “All the Holinsheds are very traditional. It’s said that Willard Holinshed murdered his daughter because she got pregnant before she got married.” She stopped her cleaning and looked at Mulder and Scully. “They say he killed her and her boyfriend because he didn’t want that kind of activity under his roof.”

“But that was his daughter,” Mulder mused.

“This is just what I’ve heard, but there’s been a couple killed each time the Holinshed ghost has killed somebody,” Cassidy said, lowering her voice. Mulder got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t whispering because of Belva Holinshed. If he had to guess, he would assume that she was whispering because of her belief in the Holinshed ghost. The files hadn’t said anything about the relationships between those that were murdered beyond whether or not they’d been related to the Holinshed family. 

“A woman, a man, and the current Mrs. Holinshed,” Mulder mused. 

“Every time he murders,” Cassidy said. “He doesn’t approve of that kind of thing. That’s what he’s saying with the murders, but there’s more than that. They used to rent out rooms here, like a bed and breakfast, but they had to stop that. Whenever there were things going on that Mr. Holinshed didn’t like, the guests were always reporting things.”

“What kinds of things?” Scully asked.

“They say he walks the halls at night, checking on things. Making sure they’re the way he likes them—just like when he was alive. Guests reported all kinds of injuries,” Cassidy said, shrugging her shoulders. “They said they got drawn out of their rooms and tripped in the hallways. They reported things getting broken or torn up. They’d say he was in their room. Sometimes they said he threw things at them. They’d wake up with cuts.” 

“Like from an axe?” Mulder asked.

“Nothing that serious,” Cassidy said. “That was before I worked here. They closed the bed and breakfast down. By the time I got here, nobody stayed here except the Holinsheds.” 

“Do you stay here?” Mulder asked. 

“Some housekeepers have,” Cassidy said. “And a few of the nurses have stayed when they’ve had a reason to, but I don’t usually stay here. I’m here these couple of nights, but that’s because Sheriff Mason thinks its best that Mrs. Holinshed isn’t alone. Like I said, though, she doesn’t like gossip much, but she’d agree with Mr. Holinshed on a few things.” 

“Like chopping people up with axes?” Scully mused, walking around and looking at the room. She stopped and raised her eyebrows at Cassidy in question, just as Mulder caught a certain expression that Cassidy was giving Scully when she expected her back to be turned.

Cassidy put on a smile that wasn’t wholly convincing. 

“Mrs. Holinshed couldn’t chop anybody up,” Cassidy said. “She can’t hardly cut her food without help. But she’s a good Christian woman, and she wouldn’t agree with two people sleeping together, in the same room, that weren’t married.”

“Is that typically a question that guests were expected to answer when checking into the bed and breakfast?” Scully asked.

“Like I said,” Cassidy offered, “I haven’t worked here since then.”

“You don’t need to worry about us,” Mulder said. “The little woman and I are entirely dedicated to one another.” 

Scully quickly put on a smile. It wasn’t her sincere smile, but only he could tell that—and that was because he was one of the few people who usually managed to wrangle an actual smile out of Dana Scully.

“You’re not wearing any rings,” Cassidy pointed out.

“Dangerous in our line of work,” Mulder said. He didn’t offer any more information and, thankfully, Cassidy didn’t ask for more. She simply shrugged her shoulders. 

“Your bathroom’s just in there. They’re all pretty small. Nothing fancy. They were all converted spaces when the place functioned as a bed and breakfast. The rooms used to be bigger, I guess. Anyway—Mrs. Holinshed’s nurse’ll probably already have her downstairs. The cook’s been preparing her lunch, so I better go and set the table. When you’re ready, just come down the stairs. At the bottom, to the right, you’ll see the double doors.”

“Near where you found the body parts?” Mulder asked.

Cassidy nodded. 

“Straight through the doors, and across that big room you’ll come into, there will be another set of doors. The dining room’s just beyond that. I wouldn’t take too long, though. Mrs. Holinshed will be ready to eat and she’s not usually up long after her meals.” 

With that, Cassidy gave one quick look over the two of them, again, before she left the room. As soon as the door was closed, Mulder smiled at Scully. 

“Did you want to freshen up, dear?” He asked. 

“Mulder…” she warned. 

Mulder laughed to himself. 

“I’m just playing the game,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to make the ghost angry, Scully.”


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Mulder had only left Scully once, and that was when he’d stepped out that evening, after Bernie brought around the rental car, to find some take out and to stock up on a few supplies from a grocery store. Belva Holinshed wished to be a great host, but her chef’s focus was clearly more on providing visually appealing meals to impress her out-of-town guests than it was on providing filling ones. Either that, or Belva was silently telling the both of them that they were habitual overeaters. 

They were allowed to come and go as they pleased, though, and while out in Mason, Mulder acquired Chinese food, snacks for their room, and a few casual conversations with the locals who were more than happy to tell wild stories about the Holinshed ghost. 

The rest of the time, Mulder and Scully had both remained inside the mansion and, for the most part and barring a few short explorations of the corridors around them, inside their room.

At this hour, they were both practically ready for bed. They’d both showered—taking turns thanks to the small bathroom—and they were both in pajamas to make their final hours of work more comfortable.

In the room, there was an antique writing desk. Mulder sat there, looking over things and working his way through the bag of sunflower seeds he’d acquired. Scully sat cross-legged on the bed and studied over her own supply of papers, nibbling on what Mulder was pretty sure was the same egg roll she’d been working her way through for an hour.

When Mulder heard the heavy footsteps again, he looked at Scully. She was looking at him, too. 

“You can’t say you didn’t hear them,” Mulder said. 

“I heard them,” Scully said. “I heard them the last three or four times, too, Mulder.” 

Mulder got up, without saying anything, and walked to the door. He opened it and stepped out into the empty hallway. The heavy steps had simply stopped. The hallway was empty. The house appeared to be silent—Belva Holinshed would have turned in long ago, and Cassidy was probably already asleep as well. Somewhere, a door squeaked and closed. Somewhere there was creaking and groaning of boards and seams.

Mulder closed the bedroom door when he stepped back inside. He picked up the glass he’d been using, and carried it to the bathroom to fill it with water from the sink.

“There’s nothing out there, Scully,” Mulder said, drinking some of the water. 

“I’m not surprised,” Scully offered.

Mulder laughed to himself. 

“You keep hearing it,” Mulder said. “You admitted it.”

“What I’m hearing is—the power of suggestion,” Scully said. “You know that, Mulder. Someone tells you that something’s taking place and your mind starts to believe it. It starts to perceive things as you want to perceive them so that they fit the narrative in your subconscious mind. Maybe you even start to produce some things—visions, something you see out of the corner of your eye.” 

“Doors closing and footsteps are not imaginary,” Mulder said. “Not when we both witness the same thing.”

Scully checked the clock on the bedside table. 

“We’re still within the hours when the night nurse would be with Mrs. Holinshed,” Scully said. “It’s entirely possible that she’s moving around and making the noise.” 

“The doors, yes,” Mulder said. “But she’s not a big woman. She’s not going to produce those kinds of footsteps.” 

Scully shrugged her shoulders.

“Some people walk heavily, Mulder,” Scully said. “It’s hardly a crime or…or supernatural phenomena. Besides—what we’re hearing may not be footsteps at all. Houses settle and creak. Older houses, especially, have a lot of noises from the shrinking and expanding of boards. We’ve both been exposed to the stories of the ghost, and we’re collectively responding to those stories.” Mulder laughed to himself. A hint of a smile crossed Scully’s lips. “You know that, Mulder. Don’t tell me you’re starting to believe in the Holinshed ghost.” 

“No,” Mulder said. He picked up his toothbrush, and the action seemed to remind Scully that she wanted to do the same, because she abandoned the bed and got rid of her mostly eaten eggroll before joining him in the small bathroom to brush her teeth. “I don’t know. I’m not discrediting the possibility of the ghost entirely. There are too many unexplained phenomena to suggest that it’s impossible that some kind of spirit lingers after death.” 

“But a ghost didn’t commit the murders, Mulder,” Scully said around her own brushing. 

“I don’t think so,” Mulder said. “The problem is that I don’t feel like we’re any closer to figuring out who is responsible.” 

Scully held up her hand to let him know that she wanted to say something, but she didn’t try to speak around a mouthful of foam and her toothbrush. Instead, she finished what she was doing and, after rinsing her mouth, left Mulder to finish what he was doing.

“I actually think I might have something, Mulder,” Scully said.

“A suspect?” Mulder asked, rinsing his own mouth.

“Maybe not a suspect, but a starting point,” Scully said. “I’ve been reading and rereading the lab reports sent from Atlanta.”

“Bernie said there were no fingerprints, nothing,” Mulder supplied.

“That’s what Bernie said, but that’s not what the reports say. Even the report that he wrote up doesn’t say that—not entirely.” 

“What do you mean? You think Bernie’s in on the whole thing?” 

“Not at all,” Scully said quickly. “I think Bernie is a prime example of a small-town loyalist who’s spent his whole life believing in the local legend of the Holinshed ghost. On some subconscious level, I think the people of Mason, Georgia need this ghost to be real. They need to believe in it.”

“So, they’re lying? Withholding evidence?” 

“Hearing footsteps where there are none is more like it,” Scully mused. She waved Mulder over and he came to look over her shoulder at the reports she’d been pouring over with intense interest. “Bernie said that there were no fingerprints when he was talking to us. When he wrote up his report—this one—he stated that the lab report showed no unexpected fingerprints. Mulder, according to the report, there were prints found at the scene. They simply all matched prints that were submitted as probable prints for the location.” 

“The Holinshed family members, nurses, and employees,” Mulder said.

“I think it’s a little too all-encompassing and too dismissive to assume that nobody who works here or is related to the family could be a killer,” Scully said. 

Mulder’s stomach tightened as he looked over the rest of the report. Now that he was looking at it from a different angle, instead of taking the local law enforcement’s word for it that it must be the ghost and there was no way of finding any other possible corporeal guilty party, it was obvious that there were a lot of possibilities that weren’t being explored.

“They’re just sweeping it under the rug,” Mulder said to himself. “Do you think it’s intentional on the part of Bernie and his deputies? Or is it simply a case of them being too blinded by the legend?” 

“It’s impossible to say at this point, but it definitely merits some looking into,” Scully said. “We need a comprehensive list of everyone that somehow got included on this list of expected fingerprints at the crime scene. I may be wrong, but I believe that someone on that list is our copycat killer.” 

“And most of them would have enough background knowledge of the previous murders to know how to pull it off convincingly,” Mulder mused.

“I think it’s also a good idea to call in an extra guard or two for Mrs. Holinshed,” Scully said. “Maybe someone not so close to the legend.” 

“Tomorrow,” Mulder said, glancing at the clock and accepting that the reason his eyes felt like they were full of sand was likely because of the hour. He gathered Scully’s papers and notes and placed them neatly on the desk with his own. Then he returned to where Scully was standing and, placing his hands on her shoulders, he kneaded her muscles. He didn’t have to ask her to know that she was tired, too. “There’s nothing else we can do tonight. We might as well relax a little and get some sleep.”

Mulder lifted Scully’s face and brought his lips to hers. The minty taste of freshly brushed teeth was exchanged between them, and Mulder deepened the kiss, dropping his other hand to the small of Scully’s back and pulling her toward him, as his body reacted to her nearness. In response to the kiss, Scully moaned quietly, and the sound only spurred Mulder on. He walked her backward, slowly, toward the bed, and pulled away from her only long enough to tear the blankets back and rearrange the pillows.

Scully crawled into bed and Mulder took the job of locking the door and turning out every light except the bedside lamp. Then he followed Scully into the bed and wrapped himself around her. She kissed him again when he requested it, and Mulder let his hands trail down to find the junction where her pajama shirt met her pajama pants. He brushed his fingertips over the soft skin there and, for half a second, felt a fluttering in his stomach at the thought that, one day—and likely not too far in the distant future—there would be something there for his hands to touch beyond the flat plane of her stomach. Mulder worked his fingertips into the band of Scully’s pajama pants, and she broke the chain of kisses that they were passing between them.

“Wait, Mulder…” She said.

Mulder stopped at her request and removed his hand. Instead, he placed it on her hip, holding her close to him, but making it clear that he intended nothing more than to be near her—not until she expressed a desire for more. 

There was suddenly a line of concern between her brows. Mulder smiled at her, softly, to try to alleviate whatever was bothering her. 

“What’s wrong, Scully?” He asked. “Was I reading you wrong? I thought you were pretty into things.”

“Ever since this evening, I’ve been thinking about the lie we told the housekeeper,” Scully said. “About being married.” 

Mulder’s stomach knotted. He pushed his feelings aside. He forced a laugh, to himself, to calm them.

“Don’t tell me it’s you who’s starting to be afraid of the Holinshed ghost, Scully,” Mulder said. “You think—he’ll be mad because we aren’t married?” 

Scully huffed at him, and wiggled away. She only moved a little, which was a good sign, and Mulder backed off of her enough to give her room to breathe and move.

“It’s not about the ghost,” Scully said. 

“But it’s something,” Mulder said.

“If you don’t want to talk about this,” Scully said. She let the words hang, but there was some challenge in her voice.

“I want to talk about anything that’s on your mind, Scully,” Mulder responded quickly. “You know that. I asked you for no secrets between us. I told you to tell me what you’re feeling.” 

“We’re going to have to tell our families, eventually, Mulder,” Scully said. 

“About the alien?” Mulder asked.

“About us. About the alien.” 

“Whenever you’re ready. Though I wouldn’t recommend calling them right now.” 

“My point is—my family’s going to ask if we’re getting married,” Scully said.

“Do you want to get married, Scully?” Mulder asked. He could practically feel the hesitancy radiating off of her. Her expression told him nothing except that she was hesitant to answer. Mulder laughed nervously to himself. “You know that marriage was just created as a contract that would provide alliance between families and create an open exchange of goods. My good name in exchange for your virginity and a goat. The legal contract of marriage really doesn’t mean much next to the—the promise of partnership that’s really just a verbal contract of love and commitment between the people exchanging it.” 

Scully pulled away a little more, putting much of the bed between them. She sat up somewhat. 

“I guess I know your feelings on the matter,” she said. There was some bite to her tone, and Mulder’s stomach clenched. 

“I haven’t even begun to tell you my feelings on the matter,” Mulder said. “I haven’t even seriously considered them. I haven’t taken the time to really think about them.” 

“I think you’ve got a great starting point,” Scully said. 

“Do you want to marry me, Scully?” Mulder asked. He could see her face redden. He could practically feel the heat rising off of her. He reminded himself that, for as composed as Scully often was, there was a great deal that lived below the calm surface. 

“I’m not a virgin anymore, Mulder,” Scully said. “And—I don’t want to deal in goats.” 

“Look, maybe I deserve that,” Mulder ceded quickly. “I should have thought before I spoke. I don’t think I meant it the way you took it, Scully. I only meant that—the legal contract of marriage is something that’s entirely different than the promise of love and dedication. You don’t have to have one to have the other. They’re two different kinds of commitment.”

“Not to everyone, Mulder,” Scully said. 

Mulder’s heart pounded in his chest. There was something so final about marriage. There was something so absolute. In actuality, the thought of it terrified him in some ways and invigorated him in others. He hadn’t lied. He hadn’t actually thought about marrying Scully. He’d somehow assumed that she wouldn’t be interested in such a thing—but that was, he realized, a foolish thing to believe. She came from a traditional family. 

“You want to marry me, Scully?” Mulder asked. She somewhat screwed up her face at him. “I’m being serious. I told you I’d be there for you. For our baby. And I meant that. If you want to get married…”

The anger, or some emotion akin to it, that Scully was trying to hold in her features gave way to a softened expression that was more along the lines of sadness.

“I don’t want to be proposed to after a discussion about—trading virginity for goats, Mulder,” Scully said. “And—if I did want to get married, I wouldn’t want to be proposed to just because…that’s what you think I want to hear.” 

Mulder heard what she wasn’t saying loud and clear. If he wanted to propose to her—if he decided that was something that he wanted to do—he was going to have to do it some other time. He was going to have to let this cool down, and he was going to have to go about it in a more traditional manner.

Even beginning to consider it, now, in sincerity for the first time, Mulder realized he didn’t hate the idea. Even though it made his stomach knot a little to consider it, he didn’t hate the idea of proposing to Scully—traditional as it was—on bended knee. He didn’t hate the idea of seeing her in white. He didn’t hate the idea of knowing that the promise of dedication they made to each other was witnessed by everyone else.

Maybe, in an instant, he’d already made up his mind. But Scully wasn’t going to accept that tonight, and she might not for a while. Mulder had already muddied the water, and it was going to take a little time for everything to settle again.

“You’re right,” Mulder said. “If—you’re going to be proposed to? You deserve better than that, Scully, and I’m sorry.” 

She looked a little taken aback, maybe, but her features shifted to a more relaxed and positive position. She didn’t respond. She simply nodded her head. She moved and settled down, pulling her pillow into a position she found comfortable. She reached a hand toward him, beckoning him, and he came quickly to replace his lips on hers. She kissed him, sweetly, and gave him a soft smile as the kiss broke. 

Every tangle in his gut unwound itself at a simple expression.

“Goodnight, Mulder. I love you,” she said. Her smile grew, just a touch more, and she rolled over, very clearly putting her back to Mulder.

Mulder laughed to himself. He turned off the lamp. 

“All right,” he said. “Fine. The Holinshed ghost wins.” 

Mulder moved close enough to her to spoon her back, affectionately dropping his arm over her. Scully enjoyed being snuggled, though she’d rarely actually ask for it, and she rearranged herself enough to perfectly fit herself to him—a sign that she approved of this intimacy even though she was, for the time being, eschewing anything more.

“Not the ghost, Mulder,” Scully said, her voice already growing a little thick with the sleep she was clearly moving toward. “You said it yourself. You need time to think. You deserve to be free from any distractions.” 

Mulder swallowed back his amusement. Instead, he kissed the back of Scully’s neck before settling in to sleep, himself.

“Goodnight, Scully. I love you, too.” 

And he absolutely meant it—maybe even more than he’d realized before. 

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AN: Hello to anyone who’s reading, and thank you for reading! I hope you’re enjoying. If you have time, please let me know what you think! I’d love to know!


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Here we are, the last piece to this story. There’s more on that at the end.

I hope you enjoy! Please let me know what you think!

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Bernie had given them the information that they requested early in the morning when he and his men came by to start sweeping the area, again, in search of any more pieces of the bodies that had already been found. Mulder and Scully had both accepted the questions and the ribbing about their first night in the same house as the Holinshed ghost, and Mulder had politely entertained Bernie so that Scully didn’t have to work so hard to keep from rolling her eyes over the prospect of a murderous ghost.

After asking a few more questions of the local law enforcement, they scoured the list of “expected fingerprints” for the Holinshed House and started the work of contacting and meeting with and talking to each of the individuals on that list, as well as collecting whatever information they could about the people on the list from Bernie and his deputies.

The most challenging part of the whole thing had been not tipping people on the list off that they could very well be suspects in the murder. After all, if one of them was the killer, they had the potential to change their tactic in the panic of trying not to get caught and, in the process, they could potentially cause more damage before Scully and Mulder were able to figure out who was behind everything.

An agent named James Clive, from the Atlanta field office, joined them around dinner time. They took the man out to a local dive and, at a table in a back corner where they were distanced from locals, they filled him on what they knew already—which, arguably, wasn’t very much.

Agent Clive’s job was simply to stay with Belva Holinshed and keep watch over the woman. He wasn’t to leave her side, at any time, for any reason. He wasn’t investigating the murder; he was protecting the next likely victim. He’d been chosen, specifically, because he didn’t believe in ghosts and, therefore, was less likely to have any kind of complications caused by an overactive imagination. 

After they’d eaten, Scully had dedicated herself to pouring over notes she’d made about the conversations they’d had that day.

Mulder, too, had settled in his chair and munched on sunflower seeds while he reread his notes, but he was starting to believe that, if they were going to find a killer among the people they’d spoken to, it was going to be Scully that was truly going to win the day. He really felt like he had no leads, and he couldn’t figure out any clear motive for anyone. 

The hours had ticked by without Mulder feeling like he’d really learned anything new or developed any great theories. It was late—almost the hour when he’d consider suggesting to Scully that they ought to call it a night and try to look at things with fresh eyes in the morning—when they’d started hearing the nocturnal recreations of the deceased Willard Holinshed. 

Mulder listened to them, the first few times that he’d heard anything, without speaking, but finally he got Scully’s attention.

“Scully?” 

“Hmmm?” Scully hummed, not looking up from what she was puzzling over.

“We agreed it’s not—the chef, right?” 

“Right,” Scully said. “Or any of the strictly daytime help. The murders were likely committed at night under the guise of the ghost.” 

“We agreed it wasn’t Belva Holinshed,” Mulder ticked off.

Scully laughed to herself.

“Unless she’s an incredible actress, it wouldn’t be possible. The woman suffered two major strokes. She can barely feed herself,” Scully said.

Mulder sighed. 

“You can hear Mr. Holinshed wandering around,” Mulder mused. “Or is that the house settling? The night nurse would have been gone for a while.” 

“It could be Agent Clive,” Scully said. 

“Except Belva’s room is downstairs,” Mulder said. “And it doesn’t sound like the footsteps are below us, does it?” 

Scully looked up from her notes. For a moment, she stared blankly at the wall. Mulder quickly realized that she was either thinking or listening. Either way, she didn’t need him interrupting her. 

When Scully got up quickly from the bed, Mulder didn’t immediately think anything of it. His brain dismissed it as an urgent need for the bathroom or something else—nothing to be concerned about, and something that would likely cause her to be frustrated with him if he asked too many questions about her actions. When she moved to put on her pants, though, Mulder’s confusion grew a little. Still, he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. The last thing he wanted to do was to be accused of hovering. It wasn’t until she grabbed her cuffs and started to put on her gun that Mulder decided it was safe to ask what was happening.

“Scully—you going somewhere?” Mulder asked.

“Mr. Holinshed’s moving around,” Scully said. “I’m going to see if I can follow the footsteps.” 

Mulder laughed to himself.

“Are you going to shoot the ghost?” Mulder asked. “Because I think he’s already got a great defense against gunshot wounds.” 

“I’ve got a hunch, Mulder. You can either come with me or stay here, the choice is yours.” 

Mulder didn’t have to be told twice. He got up, immediately, and fastened on his own gun. He grabbed his cuffs and shoved a small flashlight in his pocket. He had no idea where they were going or what they were doing, but if Scully’s hunch told her that she might need a weapon, he wasn’t going to leave her trying to defend the both of them. 

Mulder followed Scully through the darkened house, finally catching her attention. She didn’t turn on a light, and neither did he. If the killer was roaming the halls, they wouldn’t want the light to be an announcement that they were after him or her, and they wouldn’t want the light to give away their exact location.

“Do you want to fill me in on what you think is going on?” Mulder asked, keeping his voice relatively low.

“I’ve been thinking about several things I heard today, Mulder, and I think I know who the killers are.” 

“Killers? Scully, last time I checked, we’d heard the killer was a ghost and we didn’t even have a solid lead on a single suspect. Now you’re telling me that we have multiple suspects?”

“Michael Holinshed,” Scully said.

“Belva’s son?” 

Scully hummed. 

They’d met Michael Holinshed for the first time that afternoon, thanks to the list of expected fingerprints. They’d asked him to meet them at the house, and they’d talked to him in the presence of law enforcement and under the guise of simply collecting all the information they could about the house, the ghost, and the murders. Mulder hadn’t really thought that there was anything truly remarkable about Michael, but he’d spent less time talking to the man than Scully had. Admittedly, as well, there were simply times when Scully read someone differently than Mulder did—it was one of the reasons, in Mulder’s opinion, that they were so often able to figure things out.

“What about him?” 

“I didn’t think too much about it until I overheard something that Sheriff Mason said to you in passing,” Scully said. “He said that he supposed that, now, the Holinshed fortune would go to Michael.” 

“Mary was the oldest and Belva was following the tradition of leaving the fortune to her firstborn child,” Mulder said, filling in details that he remembered from the conversation. He thought about it a moment. “You think Michael committed the murders to inherit the money?” 

“The money, the house, and everything that goes with it,” Scully said. “But—it wasn’t just the money that got my attention. While I was talking to one of the deputies, Michael was nearby, and he occasionally added his input in the conversation. First, I asked about servant’s entrances and exits. I was thinking about how the killer might have gotten in. How they might have placed the body parts. Even how they might have moved around without anybody noticing. These old houses used to be full of passageways, secret rooms and areas, staircases. Essentially, people could travel within the walls, Mulder. The primary reason, of course, would be because the servants were supposed to be separate from the family most of the time.”

“But it would be perfect for the movements of a ghost, right?” 

“The corporeal kind, yes,” Scully said. “Something Michael said struck me, but I wasn’t sure why—not right away. He said that even if some of the older generation still believed in the separation of the families and the servants, most people were beyond that kind of thinking, and those kinds of things hadn’t been used in years. Almost immediately, the deputy said they hadn’t found anything like that within the house, and Michael excused himself for a moment before I could question him further.” 

“It’s more likely that the deputies hadn’t looked for those kinds of spaces,” Mulder offered. 

“Or else they’re the kinds of spaces that only people very familiar with the house would know about. I forgot to follow up on it when Michael returned, because the deputy started talking about motive and how Mary must have been involved in some kind of illicit affair with Robert Gaines. He said that the Holinshed ghost was most likely to murder because of something like that, since the Holinshed family greatly disapproved of that kind of moral transgression.” 

“So, you think Michael used the ghost as a way to hide the murder of Mary—while also keeping the family name clean,” Mulder clarified. 

“Possibly,” Scully said. “Nobody knows anything about Mary and Robert that’s anything beyond gossip. It’s possible, though, that there’s more to it than that.” 

“More motive than keeping the family name clean and inheriting all that money?” Mulder mused. He believed what Scully was saying, and even his stomach clenched at the likelihood of her theory. He followed her as she walked a few steps further down the corridor. “What else could there possibly be that could drive Michael Holinshed to murder?” 

“The possibility of a perfect murder, for one thing, Mulder,” Scully responded. “The past murders weren’t even investigated. He might have simply gotten away with it…”

She never finished what she was going to say because they were both stopped when something came crashing down. Mulder saw the solid darkness move against a backdrop of less dense darkness in time to grab at Scully and snatch her backward into his arms. For just a moment, the loud crash and the nearness of the falling object stunned them both. It was only then that Mulder slipped his hand into his pocket and produced the small flashlight that he’d tucked there when he grabbed for his gun.

“Looks like a coat of arms,” Scully said, her breathing a little raspy from the surprise of nearly being crushed by the large and heavy hunk of metal.

“The Holinsheds don’t like gossip, Scully,” Mulder mused.

“Do you hear that?” Scully breathed out.

“Footsteps,” Mulder said. 

“That’s not a ghost, Mulder,” Scully informed him—not that he was really inclined to believe in the ghost at this point. 

Mulder called out Scully’s name a little louder than he intended, but he assumed that much of the house might be waking up after the crash. He may not know exactly how it was that the coat of arms had fallen—whether its supports had been released from some other room, perhaps on the other side of the wall—but he knew that it had been intended to look like an accident, and it had been intended not to miss them.

Scully didn’t respond to Mulder calling out after her. She’d taken off at a solid run. There was nothing that Mulder could do except to run after her, trying to shine the flashlight in the direction she was headed to give them both a little light as they moved through the darkness. 

Mulder had to admit that he was simply following Scully. She seemed to know where she was going, and he had no idea where he was going, so it was only rational to let her take the lead. The footsteps they could hear were louder now than they had been, and Mulder followed Scully as she ducked into a room and wildly went searching the walls for a moment, practically running her body down the length of them. 

“What are we looking for?” Mulder asked.

Scully didn’t respond to him. Instead, she opened up a closet door and, disappearing inside, called out his name. Her voice sounded hollow, and Mulder quickly realized that it was because she’d found what she was looking for. Mulder ran into the steep, black staircase behind Scully, attempting to light her way as she shuffled down the steps far too quickly for any creature that couldn’t see in the dark.

At the bottom of the stairwell, they came out into a room. Mulder couldn’t tell anything about the room when he emerged seconds after Scully, but he heard footsteps—steps that didn’t belong to Scully. He dropped his flashlight when something hit him from behind, and the light went sliding across the floor. 

“Mulder!” Scully called out.

“Scully, look out!” Mulder called. Whatever had hit him hadn’t done the trick. Whoever had hit him, though, came back to fight him. He could hear the person breathing heavily as he threw practically his entire body weight against Mulder. Mulder didn’t know if it was Michael just from hearing him, but he knew it was a man—a man who didn’t know much about fighting. If he’d killed the two victims, he’d had the element of surprise on his side to accomplish such a feat. 

Mulder was honestly only half-heartedly fighting the man for a moment. They were doing little more than rolling around on the ground in something reminiscent of a playground brawl. He could hold the man off for a while, if he needed to, so that Scully could get him cuffed and under control. 

But Scully hadn’t come, and it wasn’t until he heard her make a noise, which he couldn’t quite identify, that Mulder’s pulse truly picked up and he decided that he was done playing games with the man who may be Michael Holinshed. Mulder gathered up his strength and, with a great deal of determination, rolled the man over and pinned him to the ground. With surprise on his side, and simply being stronger than the man he was fighting, Mulder didn’t find it too hard to roll the man over. He slammed the man’s face against the floor, with his hand on the back of his head, to stun him. He’d apologize for that, later, if anyone cared. Then he cuffed the man before crawling quickly toward the flashlight.

He didn’t need much help in identifying what was happening around him. Scully was involved in her own fight. As soon as he found the flashlight, he realized that the only reason she was still scuffling with her would-be attacker was because they both had their hands on Scully’s weapon, and Scully hadn’t yet been able to remedy that. 

“Freeze,” Mulder demanded, pulling his own weapon. “I’ll shoot.” 

Scully and Cassidy both froze. 

“He will,” Scully assured the woman.

“You wouldn’t risk killing your wife,” Cassidy offered.

“The marriage has been rocky for years,” Mulder said, biting the inside of his mouth so that he could tell the lie without laughing at it. “This could be the perfect cover-up. We’re apprehending both of you and…whoops. That’s what this was all about, right? A cover-up?” 

Cassidy laughed. Mulder didn’t believe the laughter, but she did relax her hold on Scully’s gun a little. He could see a slight shift toward Scully’s favor. 

“They’ve never called in the FBI to investigate a Holinshed murder,” Cassidy said. “Michael and me were gonna get married, but the old woman would’ve never let it happen. This way, that weren’t gonna be no problem, and we were gonna have all this. Enough to keep us both going until we’re as ancient and decrepit as Mrs. Holinshed. Michael promised me it would work. I just didn’t leave at night like I said I would. Slipped down here and opened the door for him comin’ in the back. He brought ‘em both in and we cleaned them up in the servant’s kitchen. They were never supposed to call in the FBI.” 

The whole time she talked, Michael yelled at her from the place where Mulder had handcuffed him. He wobbled around on the floor, and Mulder heard him fall over at least once when he’d made it to his knees. He lacked the physical skill to stand up with the cuffs. Listening to his struggle, Mulder was even more certain that he’d fallen into the Holinshed practice of bleeding and washing the dismembered bodies because, if all the pieces were found, they would likely tell the story that his victims had been shot—and probably while sleeping. They’d been dead when they’d been brought here and dismembered. Michael lacked the prowess to take them any other way. 

And, more than likely, Michael had access to his sister’s home and, perhaps, had even counted Robert as a friend and had access to his home. Those houses would need to be searched for evidence that law enforcement, blinded by what they wanted to believe, had likely missed. 

It had been the perfect crime, and the amount of profanity and threats that Michael threw in Cassidy’s direction told Mulder that the young woman wasn’t lying. 

Mulder slowly eased his way toward Scully and Cassidy. He kept the gun trained on Cassidy, but he doubted he’d have to use it. She was already feeling caught and defeated. With Michael handcuffed already, she didn’t have too much fight left in her. 

Scully could have easily made a quick move to regain possession of her gun, but it was clear that she didn’t want to have to do that—not if Cassidy would simply hand it over and accept that this was done.

“Let Agent Scully have the gun, Cassidy,” Mulder said. “You don’t want another charge, Cassidy. You may be able to get a good deal. Talk to them about how it was that Michael came up with the plan and you just helped him. But if you shoot me or Agent Scully? Cassidy—there’s going to be no leniency on you, then.” 

The young woman challenged him for a moment, staring at him, but then she relented. She released Scully’s weapon. Scully sighed when she had it back in her hand, and she holstered it before she pulled her cuffs. Cassidy put up no fight at all. The same couldn’t be said, exactly, for Michael who was attempting to make his way across the floor like some kind of angry and injured inchworm. 

Mulder wrestled the man to his feet. 

“I hope you weren’t too sleepy, Mulder. I think we’ll be spending the rest of the night with Sheriff Mason.” 

Mulder laughed to himself.

“I don’t think anyone’s sleeping around here anymore, Scully,” Mulder said. “We’ve made enough noise to wake the dead.”

Scully didn’t say anything as she followed Mulder in search of a light switch to make a dignified exit from the room, but she did laugh at his pun, and that was enough for him. 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“Last time I saw your eyes roll back in your head like that, Scully, it wasn’t you who was doing the eating,” Mulder said with a smirk. This time, when Scully rolled her eyes, it was for an entirely different reason. Mulder laughed to himself. “Is it everything you wanted it to be, Scully?” 

Scully hummed her happiness before she swallowed. 

“It really is one of the best burgers,” Scully mused. She chewed through another bite of the cheeseburger, her tongue darting out to catch some of the mess that she made, but leaving some behind. Mulder smiled to himself and leaned, wiping away some of the condiments from the corner of her mouth. She smiled at him as she chewed. “Is yours not good?” She asked.

“It’s fine,” Mulder said. “I’d just rather watch you eat yours, really.” 

He didn’t point out to her that he was almost too exhausted to eat. He didn’t point out to her that she’d slept like the dead while he’d driven a rental car from Mason, Georgia to Atlanta after neither of them had slept the night before because they’d been handling things pertaining to the Holinshed murders. 

Mulder didn’t begrudge Scully a few hours of sleep, and he certainly didn’t begrudge her the cheeseburger that she was making look nearly pornographic.

“I just hope I get to keep it,” Scully said, somewhat mournfully. She washed down what she was eating—condiments dripping through her fingers as she held the burger in one hand—with a long drink from her soda. 

“If I remember correctly,” Mulder said, “the alien is only a snob when it comes to puddle jumpers. That’s why I insisted—since this time we don’t have a deadline—that we drive to Atlanta. Only commercial flights, and possibly spacecrafts, are good enough for our alien.”

“If this continues,” Scully mused, “having me as a partner will be more trouble than it’s worth. You’ll have to request someone else.” 

“Never,” Mulder assured her, sensing that, although she was mostly joking, there might be at least a hint of insecurity in her tone. “After all, if it hadn’t been for you? I might still believe in the Holinshed ghost.” 

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AN: I thank anyone who read for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story and, if you’re following along with the “universe,” then I hope you enjoyed this piece to the longer narrative. I also hope that you’ll join me on future pieces.

Thanks again for reading! Please let me know what you think!


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